Disclaimer: I do not own Undertale.

A/N: I've read a few Undertale fanfics before, and I can say with certainty that my writing style is different in comparison to what I've read. I like to think that's a good thing.

Loosely inspired by Jaiden Animations' video "Why I Don't Have a 'Face Reveal'" and a cousin of mine who has expressed similar mental self-battering.

Enjoy!

I kick my feet, shrieking with laughter as Papyrus takes my hands and swings me onto his shoulders.

"THAT SHOULD TAKE CARE OF THE SHOPPING, HUMAN. ARE YOU READY TO GO?"

Instead of replying, I hug his skull and nod so he can feel it. One final spaghetti night with all my friends before– before… Asgore.

Papyrus walks us back to his house. The lights flood from the windows and spill onto the snow mounds, making patches of white turn a glittering gold. It's so beautiful. I want to just stay here forever. No worries, no expectations – no freedom.

Anxiety begins to claw at my throat, so I shake it away, or at least try to.

I have to keep going. Returning home isn't an option for me, but everyone down here – all of monsterkind – is counting on me. They call me their hero. I don't want to be, but I can't let them down. My soul will set them free. Even if I show mercy and make 'friends', well, that doesn't matter. In the end, I'm their way out, and they can only get that if I'm dead.

They expect it of me. They need this from me.

You don't have to die for them.

So I pretend; I lie. It's one of the things only humans do. And if I break, well, that's just human too.

Papyrus "NYEHEHE's" and swings me down from his shoulders so I won't lose my head going through the front door. He is so considerate; I smile a little more honestly.

The party inside greets us with enough enthusiasm that I almost reel back like Alphys does when talking to any one person. I stretch the smile wider, happy to see my friends, but feeling so fake.

I am their hero. Of course they would welcome me.

They don't actually care. You don't deserve them.

Papyrus invites me into the kitchen to make spaghetti with him and Undyne, but as the tomatoes start to splatter on the walls, I slip into the living room. It could be fun to join in; maybe on another day – one when I'm not faced with dying tomorrow. (If that day ever comes, I swear I will cherish every second.)

On the couch sits Sans, and I hoist myself up next to him. "what's up, kiddo?" he greets casually.

I say nothing, but he expects nothing and lets me sit in silence; I like this.

Sans is…difficult to describe. He's slouched down, tired, and looking at him now is like gazing at a centuries-old photograph. One second a joke; the next an empty, eyeless warning. His cheery expression feels forced, and it could be that he's entirely bone, but something in that weary poise feels very familiar.

But then Papyrus walks in, all smiles and spaghetti noodles dripping from his face, and Sans brightens like the Christmas lights on their roof. And that's when it makes sense. He is a liar, like me. But though he smiles for Papyrus, he also smiles because of Papyrus.

Emerging from the kitchen a half step behind Papyrus, Alphys curls her claws around her flicking tail. She flashes a questioning look as she pats the spot beside me. I scoot closer to Sans and Papyrus as they reposition entangled, bony limbs in an effort to get comfortable on one cushion. Undyne exits the kitchen and declares that we should get the movie going; the food won't be ready until later. Sans makes a pun, and Papyrus groans, threatening to kick him off his lap.

I smile.

You don't smile because of your friends. You only smile for them. They don't really want you.

I keep smiling.

Alphys gently tugs on my sleeve, drawing my attention to the screen as she anxiously whispers that she's not sure how she feel about watching anime right after she told Undyne that it's not real human history. For a second, the smile drops, and I remind her that telling the truth is always better. Isn't she relieved to at least get some of it out? She acquiesces and thanks me again for always being honest with her.

You liar.

I'm not a liar. To deceive is to be me.

Sans knocks my elbow with his and asks if I'm already boned to death with the episode.

How long has it been running?

I try mimicking his smile on my face. It still feels false, but knowing that I'm not the only one who fakes a grin when I'm crying inside – it helps a little. And if Sans found someone who brings out real expressions without effort or care, then maybe I can too.

But if it isn't the ones I smile for, then why am I smiling for them?

Alternate endings: One – Frisk learned to smile because they learned to truly love their friends. Two – Frisk realized there was no reason to smile for someone they didn't care about and thus the infamous monotone expression was born. You decide.

Also, as a fun note of interest: I'm now posting original stories on my blog (glasswalls . blog). I'm really excited. Come check it out!

-Dante